Looking at Old Trees From the Bathroom Window

When we used to visit our maternal grand father at his place, back when we were still in grade school, my sisters and I dreaded one thing:  the bathroom.  It wasn’t a normal bathroom because it was located outside the house, way back in the back yard, where huge trees grew.  The kids from the neighborhood used to tell us that they had heard (from reliable sources, like their parents) that dwarfs and witches roamed about grandfather’s backyard at night.  “They hide behind those old trees in the dark, waiting for fresh blood to feast upon,” they told us.  My sisters and I had, therefore, always tried our best never to go to the bathroom after dark.  And when the situation becomes unbearable, we bring an adult with us.

I don’t know about my sisters, but the fear for huge old trees remained in my mind.  I’m fine during the day, but once dark fell, I don’t like looking at trees.

Here in the old haveli in Mumbai where we will be staying for the next three weeks, the bathroom is (fortunately) indoors.  It’s a very old structure, built by the British sometime in the early 1900.  The huge mansion is made of wood, has a very high ceiling, with huge doors and windows.  I threw all the windows wide open the moment I stepped into the rooms, and breathed in the fresh air.

Then I walked into the bathroom and opened the window.  Here’s what I saw …

It was broad daylight, still the first thought that came to my mind was, “Oh no!  Not old trees!”  I decided to keep the window close before sunset.  Better yet, I decided to not use the bathroom at night at all.  On our first night here in the haveli, I told Masood, “If I ever needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I’ll wake you up.”

Tonight, I looked out of the window (bedroom window, and not the bathroom) and saw this …

I need to overcome my fears.

Memories of My First Fast

My father decided that I was ready to fast the year I turned ten.  We were in the Philippines that Ramadan, and a couple of my cousins – who were the same age as I was – were staying with us during that time.  So Abbu thought this was the perfect time to teach us about fasting.  My younger sister, who was eight years old, insisted on fasting as well.  So on the first Friday of Ramadan that year, the children woke up before dawn to start their first fast.  We went to school that day, and quietly sat throughout lunchtime whilst all our classmates had their meal.

When we reached home later that day, we couldn’t find our parents.  It was something very unusual since Ammi was a housewife then and was always home whenever we arrived from school.  The aunty next door came over to tell us that Ammi wasn’t feeling well so Abbu had to take her to see the doctor.  She told us to behave, then left when she heard her baby cry.  Since our parents weren’t around, we were happy that we won’t be taking our afternoon nap, and dashed outside to play hide and seek.  A couple of hours later, we were back at home and worried.  I saw the aunty peek out from her window, making sure we weren’t breaking anything, then went back to whatever she was doing.

By five in the afternoon we were all tired, thirsty, hungry, and worried.  Since Ammi wasn’t around to remind us – plus we were so engrossed in playing – we missed all our prayers that day.  Being the eldest, I decided that we break our fast.  At first we were skeptical, but decided that it was the right thing to do since we were uncertain on when our parents will return.  So an hour before iftaar, we drank water and ate dates.

Ammi and Abbu arrived shortly thereafter.

They had brought snacks and juice with them, and lots of fruits of us.  We all sat together to break the fast and offered our prayers.

Then Abbu took me to another room, where he asked me sternly on why I decided to break my fast and encouraged the other children to do the same.  Tears trickled down my cheeks as I listened to him stress on the importance of patience and perseverance during fasting, my head bowed in shame and regret.  I’ve never felt so guilty in my entire life.   I felt responsible for the broken fast of my sister and cousins as well.

Then Abbu drew me close to him and gave me a hug.

It was explained to us that day that we should ask Allah for forgiveness and make up by offering our prayers punctually and pay more attention to our Qur’an lessons.  Ammi and Abbu decided that we weren’t ready for fasting that year, and therefore paid more attention on helping us improve our prayers, and taught us more about Islam and its pillars.

We were in Karachi the following year, where I had my first complete fast.  By then I had learned its importance and virtues.  Everyone around me was fasting – that made things a lot easier.  And later that day, my grandmother arranged for a grand iftaar party for me, where I got to wear new clothes and received lots of gifts!

So the memories of my first fast isn’t really too … exciting to recall … but I’ll always remember that day, because I’ve learned the importance of Ramadan and salat, and of patience.

How was your first fasting experience?  And more importantly, what did you learn that day?

The 10 Honest Things About Me

Here’s the deal to do the Honest Tag:  tell your readers 10 things about you that they may or may not know, but are true. Tag ten people and be sure to let them know they’ve been tagged (a quick comment on their blog will do). Don’t forget to link back to the blogger who tagged you.

Ten Honest Things About Me (in no particular order):

1. I trust people very easily.
2. Every time I look into my husband’s eyes, I fall in love – head over heels – all over again.
3. Whenever my driving instructor gives me abrupt orders while I’m behind the wheel, I end up turning the wiper on instead of the indicator lamps.
4. I never refuse pasta or seafood.
5. I’ve recently overheard the most beautiful remark from my mother in law:  “Not every girl is like our Nadia.”  (We’re looking for a bride for my brother in law actually).
6. Whenever I try to save money to buy an SLR, something always comes up.
7. I am already planning for our annual vacation – for next year – somewhere quiet and romantic.
8. Having me as a wife has – based on my careful observation – immensely increased my husband’s level of patience.
9. I cry at least once a month, mostly on trivial matters.  But I believe it’s healthy because it helps cleanse my eyes.
10. As I type this, I feel immensely blessed (alhumdulillah).

Umm Travis, thank you for this fun tag;  I had a great time coming up with this list.

I’m going to tag (in no particular order):

1. Sabiha
2. Sara
3. Shahrazad
4. Masood
5. Haris
6. Humaira
7. Behbood
8. Falakk
9. Frozeefa
10. Nisa

I Met Her on Her Wedding Day

Though we’ve exchanged e-mails and spoke over the phone a few times, I met her for the first time at her wedding reception on the eve of July 16.  It was a very intimate gathering, where I felt very comfortable right away.  I had a great time;  one I’ll remember for a very long time – because this was also the very first time I’ve met a blogger-friend in person.

She’s a great writer, mashaAllah, and her posts mainly focuses on personal experiences with emphasis on Qur’an and ahadith.  In short, each post has a moral lesson.  However, she has carefully avoided giving away too much information about herself.  And respecting her privacy, I will not mention who this blogger-friend is, unless she permits me to.

Since I didn’t know anyone except the bride, I asked her if I could bring my sister along.  But she was kind enough to allow me to bring my mother and husband as well!  I couldn’t be happier;  both mom and sister agreed.  Masood, however, was a bit reluctant.  Men and women were to be seated in separate ballrooms and he didn’t know anyone.  And when I told the bride over the phone how Masood felt, she assured me that her brothers will take good care of him.

So on Thursday evening, Masood and I went over to my parent’s house after work.  While mom prepared tea, I ironed 7 meters of fabric – my blue and pink saree (I’m so into wearing sarees since my recent trip to Hyderabad).  The hotel was in a prime location, hence it was easy to find our way.  The invitation said 8:30 pm, but we arrived by 10:30 pm (we left office at 9 pm, took sometime to get dressed,  plus 40 minutes on Shaikh Zayed Road due to traffic … there was a horrible accident, unfortunately).

Once inside the hotel, Masood was escorted into the men’s section while we (mom, sister and I) went into the ladies’.  It felt slightly awkward in the beginning;  I knew only the bride, whom I’ve never met before.  I walked straight ahead, smiling and greeting women as I pass them.  Then there was this particular woman who smiled very sweetly, so I approached her and asked, “Has *bride’s name* arrived already?”  I made it sound as if I knew the bride since birth.  “Oh yes, she’s in that room.”

Naturally, she was surrounded by a lot of women.  I looked at her … she looked very lovely, mashaAllah.  “So this is the lady behind that wonderful blog,”  I thought to myself.  Once the crowd around her started to lessen, I approached her and greeted her with a salaam.  We shook hands, and when I introduced myself to her as Nadia Masood, she gave me the sweetest smile.  Masood later told me that I should’ve introduced myself as “I’m the Purple Journal, wife of Thoughts from Dubai.” I introduced my mom and sister to her, and she introduced us to her mother and aunt.  I sat with her and we talked for sometime.  She’s amazing, mashaAllah, and I’m very much impressed.  One can not, however, sit too long with the bride since everyone wants to talk to her, hence I excused myself and joined my family at the table.

When my sister and I lined up for the buffet dinner, we heard a couple of ladies behind us speak Tagalog.  “There are a lot of Filipinos here,” my sister whispers.  “Should we speak to them?” I ask her.  At that moment, another lady – who didn’t look or dressed like a Filipino – walks up to the ladies behind us and start talking to them in Tagalog, much to their surprise.  “You’re a Filipino?” they asked.  “Yes, of course.”  “Half Filipino?” the astonished ladies asked, thinking she probably might be half Pakistani.  “No, I’m 100% Filipino!”  she laughed, yet the ladies still looked surprised.  My sister and I looked at each other, “If we go and tell them right now that we are also Filipinos, they’ll faint!” said my sister, specially with her wearing a very traditional shalwar kameez, me wearing a saree, and both of us having conversation in Urdu.  So we remained Pakistanis that night.

Oh, and Masood called me on the phone, “I’m alone here.  Please ask your friend who her brother is among these men.”  I walked over to the bride and she told me her brothers’ names, and that they were expecting Masood.  “One of my brother is the guy in black suit and red tie,” she added.  So Masood found her brothers, and when he introduced himself, they welcomed him.  Masood was pleasantly surprised when the father also knew him by name!  “So you are Mr. Masood!” he said cheerfully, “Come, let me introduce you to my friends.”  Thereafter, Masood enjoyed the evening.

Food was great, alhumdulillah.

The best part of the wedding reception was that it was very solemn:  men and women were in separate rooms, there was no music at all, no annoying photographers, everyone spoke softly, and nobody left food in their plates.  I was very much impressed.  I love her mom and aunt, very sweet ladies, mashaAllah.  They all made me and my family feel very comfortable.  Of course, it definitely helped that mom and sister came along.

We left around midnight.

To the bride and groom, thank you so much for making us part of this important moment of your lives.  May Allah bless your marriage with so much love, health and happiness.

Makkah Gate

Makkah Gate at the Jeddah-Makkah Highway in Saudi Arabia

I had been waiting for this gate from the moment we got into the car heading towards Jeddah, after our Umrah three months ago.  This gate signifies the boundary of the haram area of the city of Makkah, where non-Muslims are prohibited to enter.  But long before this gate arrives, people coming into Makkah from Jeddah have already undergone the necessary checking of passports and other documents.  The structure is that of a huge book, representing the Qur’an, sitting on a rehal, or book stand.

And it looks even more beautiful at night …

The gate at night (Googled image)

Our driver, for this Makkah to Jeddah trip, was a local and didn’t speak English at all.  I was actually surprised since back home in the U.A.E.,  I never saw a local drive a taxi. But then, this car wasn’t a regular, registered taxi;  this was his own private vehicle.  However, buses take a long time, as per our  Madinah to Makkah experience, we had a plane to catch in four hours, and besides, everywhere we looked, people were taking these private taxis.  Therefore Masood, his friend and this local guy negotiated the fare in sign language, and we hopped in.

Before we entered the highway, our driver stopped briefly at a gas station.  He asked if it was okay with us if he made ablution and prayed 2 rakats first.  It wasn’t time for the regular prayer, so we assumed he prayed nafl.  We waited for him in the car.

Our adventure began when he returned, fixed his head gear, smiled, and started the engine.

He didn’t drive the car;  he flew it!  And when one is flying, one doesn’t feel a need for indicator lamps.  So he just changed lanes as he wished, abruptly.

And since driving can get so boring, and such a waste of precious time as well, he decided to multi-task.  He made/attended phone calls, sent text messages, cleaned his ears with cotton buds, searched for the tissue box, and counted his money – all the time maintaining a speed of 120 km/hour.

“We should’ve prayed a few rakats ourselves,” I told Masood.

We reached Jeddah airport an hour earlier than we were supposed to, in one piece.  Alhumdulillah.